Z is for Zombie
by super ario
Summary: Shawn Spencer has learned a lot about police work and survival over the years, thanks to his father. But did Henry ever teach him how to survive during a zombie apocalypse?


_**Author's Note:** So, first of all, I just finished binge watching Psych a short while ago on Netflix. This is my first attempt at writing anything Psych related so I'm hoping I do the show justice. That said, this is a zombie AU, because I feel like every story is better if there's zombies in it.  
_

 _I also want to say that people may or may not die in this. I mean, in a zombie apocalypse you'd kind of expect people to die. However, I don't usually enjoy permanently killing off characters. Not as much as I enjoy keeping them alive to torture them. It's just not that fun. But if it happens, I'll be sure to give you guys a heads up so you can be prepared. But I don't even know at this point whether it'll happen or not, so don't hold your breath for too long._

 _ **Disclaimer** : Psych not mine, but this plot idea is._

* * *

Shawn Spencer isn't scared of a lot of things.

I mean, sure, sometimes he jumps when he sees a spider in his vicinity - no matter how small. And yeah, sometimes his heart races when the WiFi goes out, or when they run out of microwave taquitos in the office (which is truly an epic tragedy of ancient Greek proportions). It isn't like he's a robot or anything. He knows what feelings are and he knows how to feel them - which is a pity, really, because sometimes he wishes that he didn't. And he's been shot at, more times than really necessary. Hell, he's _been_ shot. Like with a real gun and real bullet and everything. It had hurt like hell and had bled more than he was comfortable with, and on more than one occasion he had no choice but to exercise the thought that he wasn't going to survive the ordeal in the end. Which, in hindsight, would have been almost as big of a tragedy as them running out of microwave taquitos in the office. But luckily it hadn't come to that.

And not only has he been shot, but he's been kidnapped, and hit over the head with hard things, and stuffed into the trunk of an aged yellow vehicle that could outrun Mr. Wile E. Coyote himself, and - once - even _poisoned_. (Okay, so Gus would say that he was "barely" poisoned, but the fact of the matter is that he'd been poisoned and that is kind of a big deal - no matter how minor the dosage!) It doesn't matter how close to being on the brink of death he'd been in that situation. The point is that Shawn Spencer has had a lot of shit happen to him. A lot of shit that has resulted out of odd and dangerous and, often, downright stupid situations that he'd somehow gotten himself into.

And, frequently, Gus, as well.

So Shawn knows what it's like to almost be killed. Shawn knows what it's like to see his loved ones almost be killed. Shawn shouldn't be scared of much these days. Not after everything he's been through during these past years because, the way he sees it, he's faced it all.

But when the world as he knows it comes to an end, of sorts, he can't help but feel beyond terrified. Beyond terrified because while his father had trained him since childhood how to catch a killer and how to count hats in a room and how to survive during an abduction (one of the human variety, although, he often felt some lessons in extraterrestrial defense would have been helpful - his father just never agreed), he'd never been taught how to survive during a zombie apocalypse.

Unsurprisingly, the jokes had only been funny for a short while - and even then, they'd been forced at best . It was easy to escape the reality of the world's downfall with an emotional distance, but once the police stations started closing, and once the hospitals started getting overrun, and once the streets were being claimed by corpses, things were no longer fun and games. They'd never been fun, really, but in the beginning at least he could pretend that things were not really so bad. Not as bad as he'd seen on TV anyway. What they were shown on the news every hour was just so absurd and ridiculous. How could they not have taken it like some sort of silly joke? Shawn refused to see it as anything other than just that. He wasn't ready to accept the fact that they were no longer in control. Refused to see that they had never really been, of anything, ever.

But then Henry had all but shown up at the Psych office, dragging him and Gus into his truck before they could say even a single thing to fend him off. He didn't give them much of a choice. He took them back to his home, the place where Shawn had grown up, and immediately began to bring out his tools, ready to board up the walls and barricade them inside. The moment Shawn saw his father there with emergency supplies, an anxious look in his eyes, and a _rifle_ in his hand, he knew that things were about to get even uglier. He didn't think it was possible, considering things already seemed more chaotic than really plausible but, as usual, he was right.

Shawn really hated the fact that he was right.

"I don't understand," he'd told his father. "What's going on? Why do we have to hide?"

Henry offered him a grim look as he passed him a piece of plywood. "It's not safe out there, Shawn. We need to protect ourselves."

"But it can't be that bad, can it?" he'd asked, hopefully. "I mean, the stuff they're playing on TV. That isn't true, right? It can't be! I mean - _zombies_?" The thought was so crazy that he had to laugh. When he received no answer, he continued, frowning. "Come on, dad. You know as well as anyone that I'm a sucker for a good ol' living dead story. But you can't tell me that you honestly believe that's what's going on out there! You said it yourself before. You don't believe in that sort of thing, and you have no reason to. So why are you buying this crap now?"

"It's not crap, Shawn," Henry said, passing him a hammer. "You saw what's happening. I'm not going to sit around and wait for things to get worse. If we want to have a chance at making it through this thing - whatever this is - until it passes over, then we need to be proactive. And we start that by making sure we have someplace safe to stay." Not wanting to say more about it, unsure of _what_ to even say about it, he motioned for his son to continue boarding up the windows. "Now, could you please focus on what you're supposed to be doing? We don't have all the time in the world."

Shawn had stared at the wood in his hands for a good minute before he could even get his feet to move.

And ever since then, they've never been able to stop.

It's funny, Shawn thinks as he's picking at the floorboard with a pocket knife, that back when things were different - like when things were still normal and the world hadn't ended and zombie apocalypses were still only things of TV series and comic books - he had sometimes felt tired. After a long day spent chasing criminals and working the cogs in his mind, he sometimes felt so exhausted that he couldn't even get out of bed the next morning. At least not before 9:30 - no, Heaven _forbid_ he have to open his eyes at such an ungodly hour. He'd just always liked to sleep in, and usually tried to whenever given the opportunity, which was mostly every morning that he didn't have a case he was working on. At least not a case that was extremely important. Shawn enjoyed sleeping and, most of the time, it wasn't really a problem. Even though he lived a life of spontaneity and danger, and even though he seemed to always be moving, compared to how things are now, his life used to be quite simple.

Looking back at all of that, he realizes just how foolishly he used to live. How silly he was to think that he sometimes had it hard. That sometimes his life could be so taxing. He'd had no idea then just how truly demanding the universe could be of its inhabitants. And now, those petty concerns with missing the ice cream truck or not having enough time to finish dreaming of pretty girls and nachos before his dad phoned him bright and early to go and clear his junk out from the attic or join him on a fishing trip all seem so...for lack of a better word... _stupid_.

Everything about the other time had been so stupid. Before he'd been living a life where he'd been so sheltered, even with bad guys trying to kill him every other week. Sure, not everything had been easy. He'd been dealt with more than his fair share of struggles throughout his existence. But despite the struggles, he'd really had everything relatively easy. Easy compared to now, anyway. Back then, he knew that he was in control of what happened in his life, at least to some extent. Not all of it, but a lot. And even though he didn't particularly _like_ being kidnapped or threatened with weapons and floundering to pay apartment bills (the ones that Gus didn't help him with), he knew, always, in the back of his head, that he could walk away from that stuff so should he please. He could have left and closed down Psych years ago and would have been done with it. If he needed to, he could change so much.

But Shawn didn't need or want to change anything. He had a history of attracting trouble, no matter where he was or what he was doing. At least with Psych, he could attract trouble in a way that was a little more controlled than before. With Psych, if and when things went wrong, there was always someone to call to back him up. And it made him happy. Shawn didn't care about the fact that one day he could screw up and get himself killed. Or worse, Gus killed. This was a way for him to do his part in the world. It was a way to not only support himself, but to show people what he was capable of - including his father, whose acceptance he desired more than he even realized.

Even though running a private detective agency wasn't one of the world's safest jobs (far from it, actually), Shawn can't help but think that he'd been a bit spoiled in his previous life. He had a best friend who cared for him far beyond a typical friend's responsibilities, an entire police department who - albeit grudgingly - let him run amok a good majority of the time he pleased, and even a father who always had his front door open for him, even if their relationship wasn't always the best on a personal level. Not to mention his mom was always only a phone call away when he needed her. Shawn was loved and cared for and had too many things that he didn't deserve. Had more good people in his life than he really deserved. And even while knowing this, he was so wrapped up in the superficial things, like most people in the modern world. Cell phones, internet, video games. Microwave taquitos. Stuff that didn't matter mattered to him, and sometimes the things that should have mattered more to him didn't.

Truly, he'd been living like a fool.

That, for better or for worse, had to change very quickly. From day one, when things really started to fall apart and Shawn was forced to kiss the world as he knew it goodbye, his father had been behind him every step of the way, at every moment, telling him to move. Always, everyday, he was moving. It was like he'd never had a chance to really stop and catch his breath - let alone catch up on social media. Henry was always there pushing him forward, forcing him to run. To work. To fight.

To live.

On the day that Shawn first boarded up the house, it'd taken him a minute to even get his feet to start moving.

And ever since then, they've never been able to stop. Because, as his father had put it, stopping meant giving up - and giving up meant losing. Shawn stopped seeing this like a game a long time ago and knows that if he loses this time, he won't be able to insert another token into the coin slot and try again. In his past life, back when things seemed to make more sense, he'd always had a lot of chances to redeem himself and to change whatever wasn't working for him. He didn't always try hard, not with everything, but at least the option was always there. Now, if he loses, it's game over. Too bad, so sad. End of story.

Next player.

Shawn can't remember ever feeling so helpless in his life. Not even in the clutches of Garth Lawnmore. At least then, it was only one or two people who were trying to finish him off at a time. And though there had been some situations where he wasn't one hundred percent certain that he'd come out of alive or unscathed, he always knew that there were people fighting for him. Fighting when he couldn't.

Gus. His dad. Jules. Even Lassiter.

Now it isn't just about worrying about the bad guys. It's everything. It's living. It's the world itself. Shawn used to think that life was so fleeting. He knew because he'd been faced with his own mortality more times than he could count. It was why he always tried to live his life to the fullest, even if doing so sometimes almost got him killed. But now, in this new world, the thought seems to take on a whole new meaning. He knows there's bad people in the world. People who deserve to spend their existences stuck behind bars. Shawn used to devote a lot of his time hunting those people down. It was good of him to do that, but now he just can't afford the time nor the energy for such a thing.

As odd as it sounds, nothing like that matters anymore. This isn't the same world he used to live in. Not by a long shot. Sometimes he thinks he must be on a completely different planet with the way things have changed. No longer do those old rules from before apply. No longer can he - or anyone else, for that matter - enforce laws that are now considered irrelevant. Here, it's every man for himself. Here, sometimes people have to resort to drastic measures to ensure their own survival. Here, sometimes that means loading up on weapons and looting to get food, or shelter, or supplies. Even killing.

Once, he'd been threatened at knife point for a half used roll of toilet paper.

He knows of people who have been killed for much less.

Because of this, Shawn knows better than to think that things used to be hard. Things weren't ever easy, but at the very least they weren't like this. Back then, he'd still had a roof over his head. Back then, he could still find snack carts pedaling across the street. Back then, he had people to always watch his back. He even had neighbors who smiled at him. Now Shawn can't even remember the last time he's come across a stranger who hasn't immediately suspected him of stealing or foul play. Can't even remember the last time he's come across anybody in the world who has offered to help him, rather than harm him.

The zombies wanting to tear into him on a daily basis have posed a problem, too. But that's a different story altogether.

Shawn supposes that even though he's never seen things this bad, except for maybe on AMC, things could ultimately be worse. Things could always be worse. It's hard to imagine, really, what with the living dead roaming the streets and the human population dwindling as every second passes. Humanity used to be against itself, he used to think. Now he knows what it's really like to live in a world where people are truly against people. Where morals matter no more than machetes. He doesn't like it, but at least he's made it this far and this long. At the very least he's not dead.

Luckily, and unfortunately, Shawn has been in plenty of life or death situations before. He'd known so much about police work before he'd ever been hired by the SBPD, thanks to his father. And the information he knew - had engraved into his brain, really - had helped so much with getting him by in the workforce, and in his regular civilian life. He'd only gained even more experience over the years when he finally got to put his smarts to use. And as much as he hated being kidnapped and fighting for his life on a somewhat frequent basis, Shawn feels that those experiences have helped put a lot into perspective now. He knows how to remain calmer than most in dangerous situations like that. Knows how to use his head. How to focus. How to figure things out.

Shawn used to try getting by talking his way out of most problems, but being that running his mouth has often gotten him (and the people around him) even deeper into shit, he knows that a little knowledge of basic survival skills and self defense will take him a lot farther than some other people might go. At least, assuming his stupidity doesn't get him killed first. For him, it's always a strong possibility.

But what's worse, he thinks, is not that things in the world have gotten this bad. It isn't that the dead have been rising up from the depths of hell and have been wanting to bring him down with them. It isn't even that he hasn't tasted a single pineapple in over three months. What's worse about this life is that, for the first time ever, he feels more alone than he's ever imagined humanly possible.

Even when he'd left home so many years ago - after his mother had left and his own father had arrested him and had essentially affirmed his suspicions that 1) their relationship was beyond repair, and 2) that he'd never be worthy of calling Henry Spencer his father - in the end, Shawn knew that he had people who cared for him. Who thought about him. Even if they were angry. He hadn't always made them happy, not even Gus, but at least he knew they were there. And he'd been lucky enough to mend fences with his father after a while, at least a little bit. But even when he hadn't spoken much to anyone, and even when he'd spent months and months traveling the country and the rest of the world by himself, Shawn had never truly felt completely _alone._ Not like this. It's true that not having someone by his side at all times was odd, but being alone didn't have to mean he was lonely. He'd made a lot of new friends along the way, and in his heart he always knew he had a place, and a person (or two or three) to return to when he was ready.

But now that people have turned against people and Mother Nature has turned against _him_ , Shawn can't help but feel that he's got no safety net anymore. He's only had so many people to trust since the world fell apart. He's trusted his dad and he's trusted Gus. He's trusted the Chief and Jules and Buzz and Lassie. He's trusted some more familiar faces that have come and gone. But even with Gus at his side, or his father, Shawn feels that he's in this alone this time. That they all are. It's just the way things are now. It's just the way the game is.

It's every man for himself. Every player for himself.

Help or not, it ultimately comes down to whether you've got your own back or if you don't. Shawn hates this more than anything. Hates it so much because he knows that anytime the sun comes up and another day shines their way, this could be the end for someone. Before, it had been stressful enough living the day to day, hoping that bad things wouldn't happen. But bad things happen, especially in times like this. Only a fool would think that they all have a chance. Only a fool would believe that they'd all make it through this situation alive and well, even together. Shawn sometimes played the fool. Sometimes it was the only way to keep his sanity in the darkness of the world. But Shawn isn't a fool, and he knows better than to allow himself to be one now.

There isn't much that Shawn used to be afraid of. He likes to think that there isn't much now, either. Truthfully, Shawn is afraid every moment he wakes to see another day. Shawn is afraid anytime he hears the wind blow behind him. Shawn is even afraid when he blinks or looks away, because in that split second things could change forever - and what's really frightening is the thought that it could be his fault. Shawn knows it'd be unfair for him to blame himself for something going wrong when it isn't his fault. He can't protect everyone at every given moment, after all. But the fact of the matter is that he's got only himself to trust in a situation like this. He's only got himself to trust to ensure his loved ones are safe, and at any given moment he isn't paying attention (even if for only a split second while he blinks), disaster could strike. Shawn isn't ready to lose yet another person in his life, and even less because of his own negligence. It isn't fair to think that he's the one who has to keep guard like this, but he can't help it. Shawn feels it's up to him, always, to make sure that everyone is okay. Sometimes that means just keeping their spirits up and telling bad jokes. Other times, and most of the time, it means keeping an eye on them.

If Shawn could keep his eyes open for the rest of his life, he would. But that's not something he can do. It's just another thing they can't do for him either. For that very reason, he can't trust them the way he trusts himself. He doesn't worry about them protecting him. He knows that they'd all do anything to ensure he makes it out of this okay, just like he would them. He just simply can't trust that they'll always look out for themselves in the same way. That they'll never let their guards down. They'll blink. They'll sleep. They'll have to. Things that he used to take for granted before. Things that he shouldn't feel angry about now. But knowing the nature of this world, he doesn't think they've got time for any of it. And like hell is he going to allow anything to happen to them if he can help it.

But now they're not here. _Nobody_ is, except, as usual, him.

Shawn thinks it'd be both better and worse knowing that they were all dead, as opposed to not knowing at all. At least, like this, he knows there's a chance they're still out there. Hopefully looking for him. Waiting for him. Hopefully taking care of themselves like he'd want them to. He _is_ hopeful that they'll be reunited, and he wants nothing more than that. But at the same time, the thought that he'll never see them again, and the fact that he may never find out what's become of them in this new world - where cell phones and computers are simply things of the past - is what really kills him the most. He doesn't want them to lose this battle of survival any more than he wants to lose it himself, but if he knew they were dead, he wouldn't have to spend time wondering about their fate. If he knew what had happened to them, he wouldn't spend the rest of his existence heartbroken over the thought of knowing nothing what had become of his friends and family. Wouldn't have to wonder where they were, or if they even were at all. He would just know.

But the fact of the matter is, he'd gone on a supply run with Lassiter and McNab some four or five days ago. It had been a last minute thing. His father had almost forbid them all to go, but Juliet had cut herself pretty badly on a stray piece of glass and they'd been all out of proper medical equipment. Remembering there was an old pharmacy on the outskirts of town, they had decided to run in and run out as quickly as possible, bringing back with them whatever they could before nightfall. That was assuming it hadn't all been looted already. Shawn had offered to go, mainly because he was sick and tired of staying at camp. He didn't feel right just sitting around when he could be helping. Lassiter had inevitably rejected the offer, stating that he didn't have the time to babysit him, but later relented, figuring it helped to have another set of hands there to help bring back supplies, and also to keep watch. Bringing Henry along was out of the question, and the Chief obviously had to stay behind to care for her young child. Not to mention his partner was in no condition to make the 4 mile trek. Their gas had run out a week prior and they would keep an eye out for any new vehicles on the way to the pharmacy. Gus had even offered to join, but Shawn told him to stay behind and make sure Juliet was okay and that his father didn't stress himself too much over him being out of his sight.

Lassiter had to admit that Shawn had proven himself quite useful in the past few months. Though inevitably he'd asked, less than politely, for the faux psychic to shut his mouth on more than one occasion during their journey to the pharmacy, Lassiter had been thankful to have another person to rely on during this trying time. McNab was useful, but McNab was also young and sometimes panicked under pressure. Shawn always seemed to keep his head on tighter in times of need, but that didn't change the fact that Lassiter found him absolutely annoying. Zombie apocalypse or not.

"Yeah, but you'd miss me if I were gone, Lassie," Shawn had jokingly told the detective on their walk. "Don't even try to deny it."

The detective had offered him a nice _harumph_ in response, but not much else.

Then, outside of the pharmacy, they'd been attacked by a swarm of the undead. Frantically, they'd all tried to fight their way to safety. In the process, they'd ended up separated - the one thing they had promised to never let happen, knowing the potential consequences. However, they hadn't been presented with much of a choice. At the time, it had been the only way to ensure they all got out of there alive. Shawn could only remember Lassiter telling him and McNab to run before all hell broke lose. Now, Shawn isn't sure whether or not Lassiter or McNab ever even made it out of there alive at all. He'd been ushered in the opposite direction by a horde of walkers and never saw them again.

Later, after Shawn deemed it safe to return, he visited the site where earlier he'd almost met his painful demise. The detective and the officer were nowhere to be seen. All that was left was McNab's backpack. He'd tried to wait around for a while, even tried calling out their names, but nobody ever answered and nobody ever came. Nobody alive, anyway. By then the sun had already begun to set. He'd had no choice but to set up camp for the night, alone, among the shadows of the trees. He waited with bated breath, hoping that his friends would join him at any given moment, but the time never came. By the time the sun was at its peak the next day, Shawn figured it was safest to simply head back to camp. Perhaps that's what McNab and Lassiter had done too. It made the most sense.

By the time Shawn made it back to camp, later that day, he knew he was too late. Something had happened in the time that he'd been gone. Something major, most likely, considering everyone was gone. They'd taken most of their gear with them, which to Shawn meant they'd likely decided to set up camp somewhere else. Judging by the few scattered bodies near the campsite, they'd also been attacked by some zombies too. Shawn didn't blame them for picking up and moving, but he felt angry that this had happened while he was gone. He wanted desperately to know that they were all okay, and no more harmed than as he'd left them. He wanted to make sure that Lassiter and McNab had both found their way back safely as well. And, even more, he wanted to find them so that he wouldn't have to spend another night out there, alone. Nothing but him and the shadows.

Unfortunately, he never happened upon them that night. Nor the next night. Nor the next. If they'd left anything behind, anything at all to show him that they were okay or that they'd gone in a certain direction, he didn't know where to find it. He looked for clues. He tried to track them down. But after a few days of fending for himself, Shawn came to the realization that he might never find his family again. They'd hadn't returned to camp, and by now he'd traveled so far from it he wasn't even sure he knew how to get back. It hurt knowing this, and hurt even more knowing that he'd have to always wonder what fate had befallen his father. His best friend and brother. Juliet, and the Chief, and the men he'd sent out to the pharmacy with. Had they all made it out unscathed, or had death claimed another victim? Had death taken another friend from him, like it had taken Woody a month prior? And the Chief's husband another before that?

Shawn didn't cry. Shawn rarely cries. But after three nights with only himself, he noticed his eyes brimming with tears.

 _What would my dad think of me now?_ he thought. _Or Lassie. I wonder if he's missing me at all or if he's happy that I'm finally out of his less-stylish hair._

Shawn hadn't been trying to make a prediction of what was to come when he'd teasingly said that thought to Lassie so many days ago. But a lot of the time, Shawn was right about things, even when he didn't want to be. For that reason, he spent some time wondering if he was cursed. If he had somehow jinxed himself and everyone else by being stupid. After a while, he got tired of feeling sorry for himself and decided to do something to distract himself. If he had felt alone in this world beforehand, the feeling had intensified triple since then.

After another day on foot, Shawn happened across a small, empty general store. They'd left Santa Barbara long ago, the city having been claimed by Satan himself, and by now were somewhere near what he could only imagine was east of Sacramento. Their first instinct had been to head for a safer city, where the government had set up shelters and hospitals. Los Angeles had been where the horrors had begun, and Henry had insisted they drive up north, where he'd heard on the radio that people were being taken in near San Francisco. Unfortunately, all the big cities had suffered the most since the outbreak started, and they'd nearly gotten themselves killed in San Jose before they'd decided to continue driving in an eastward direction, hoping to get away from the people and the problems. But, naturally, the problems always found them wherever they'd gone. They'd spent a lot of weeks traveling, sometimes by foot, other times by car. They never could stay in one place for too long, which explained why they'd left camp that day he'd went on a supply run. The only difference this time was that they had left without him, and he was likely never going to see any of them again.

Things could be worse, Shawn tries to remind himself. After all this time, he knows things could be worse. He could very well be dead. That's about the worst thing he can imagine happening now. But he isn't dead, and the fact that he isn't dead gives him hope that the others aren't dead either. He knows his dad is tough and smart, not to mention stubborn. He knows he'd never go without giving it a fighting chance. And Gus too. As long as Gus is with his father, he needn't worry too much about them. They'll care for each other, as always. And Juliet and the Chief are more than capable of doing the same. Not to mention Lassiter would sooner kill him than let himself be killed. Especially by a zombie, of all things. And Buzz is probably okay too, he tells himself. Everyone is probably okay. That's all that matters.

Shawn refuses to believe anything otherwise. But that doesn't make things any easier.

"I told you preparing for supernatural events was important too, Dad," Shawn says, stifling a laugh that has no energy in it. "But no. You had to lock me in the trunk of your car instead. And you had to chase me through the woods like a serial killer." Thinking about this, he sighs. He never stops picking at the floorboards with his pocket knife. It's about the only thing that distracts him these days. "I guess I should thank you for all of that. It really came in handy, even though I'd never thought it would. I just wish you were here to tell me what to do next..."

After a moment, Shawn remembers there's no-one there to answer him.

"I don't even know what I'm doing, talking to the air like this. Nobody can hear me. Nobody's even here! I guess it's safe to say I've finally gone insane, huh?"

Again, nobody answers.

"Yeah, I thought as much," he says, running a hand down his face. "It's just less quiet if I make noise. I hate that there's no noise. I even miss your _snoring_ right about now, Dad. I guess that shows you how bad it is. And Lassie's yelling, too, even if he's yelling about how much he hates me. And I miss Gus' silly, girlish screams. And listening to Jules and the Chief talk about Iris...and even listening to that kid crying is better than this..."

After a minute or two, he decides to continue chatting with shadows.

"I don't know what to do anymore. It hasn't even been that long and it already feels like it's been forever. I don't know that I can do this without you. Without all of you." Shawn stabs at one last spot in the wood beneath him and pulls his hands into his lap, the pocketknife forgotten beside him. "I mean, I know that I can make it. I know how to find food. I know how to find shelter, and how to make a fire. But it's not the same without you here. What good does all that matter if I can't even talk to you guys? If I can't even...see that you're here, and that you're safe?" He shakes his head at the thought. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that I don't want to live in a world without you. I _can_ , and I know _how_ to. Theoretically, anyway. But I just don't want to."

 _But there's always going to be something you don't want to do, Shawn_ , his father's voice tells him silently.

Shawn releases a noise of agreement at this.

 _You never want to do anything, Shawn_ , says Gus. _Unless it's drinking pineapple smoothies and drying out my bank account._

"Those smoothies never paid for themselves, Gus, and you know that!"

 _It's not all hopeless, Shawn._ This time it's Juliet he hears in his head. _We're out here, you just have to find us. Or we'll just have to find you._

Shawn smiles. He misses her voice more than anything. He's thankful that he can still hear her clearly in his mind.

 _Don't bring me into this, Spencer,_ Lassiter groans. _Not even in your imagination do I want to have a conversation with you._

Shawn smiles even wider. "Ah, come on, Lassie-pants. We both know that isn't true."

Imaginary Lassiter grumbles. In his place comes the Chief. _Mr. Spencer, I trust you'll do whatever you have to in order to keep yourself safe._

"I'm doing my best, Chief. You know I always do."

 _I do. And I just wanted to say keep up the good work. Heaven knows both your father and Mr. Guster won't stop stressing over your whereabouts._

Shawn sighs, wondering the same of theirs. Wondering if he'll only have these thoughts to keep him company for the remainder of his life. It's nice to hear them all again, even if only in his head, but it's frustrating too. Frustrating because he knows that, despite his efforts and theirs, this might be all he'll ever get from them again. That he might be subjected to hearing their voices calling for him only in his dreams and in his thoughts from this point onward. He dreads the day that he can no longer remember what they sound like. Shawn doesn't usually forget things, but this he worries of a lot. If he loses even their memories, he'll truly have nothing left.

"I miss you guys."

 _We miss you too, Shawn_ , Juliet tells him.

 _Don't give up!_ McNab interjects. _We're never going to give up on you._

Shawn bites his lip and lets his head fall back against the wall behind him. He wants to believe this is true, and does, but then again this is all coming from his head and not from any of their mouths. He doesn't doubt that they'll continue looking for him, if they're even alive at this point. It's barely been a week, so it's impossible that they'd already move on from searching for him. But at some point they might realize their efforts are futile. In the end, they might have to give up on him, if only to focus on not giving up on themselves. Shawn thinks that's okay, because he doesn't want them to waste their time worrying for him when they need to worry for themselves. But he hopes they won't decide that too quickly. He doesn't think he'll ever be able to stop worrying for them.

 _Just remember what I taught you, kid_ , his dad says. _You know how to do this. I_ know _you can do this. You've proven that to me already._

Shawn wants to ask a question, but instead closes his eyes.

 _And I'm proud of you for it,_ the voice continues. _Just keep doing what you're doing, and don't forget all that I've taught you. If you remember what I taught you, you'll live, Shawn. I've taught you everything you'd possibly need to know about survival._

"I'm not so sure about that, Dad," Shawn whispers. "This is different. I don't know what to do now. Tell me what to do."

 _I know it seems hard, Shawn, and it is. But it doesn't have to be all the time. Just think back to what I first taught you when you were a kid._

"That Spencer men never cry? Or that poo-poo goes in the toilet, and not in the bathtub?"

 _Don't be stupid, Shawn. Before I taught you any police work, I taught you something extremely important. Aside from the toilet thing. What is it?_

Shawn thinks for a moment, then releases a breath of air that can only be described as a cross between a laugh and a sigh.

 _Your ABC's, Shawn. I taught you your ABC's,_ he hears his father say. _It might seem dumb to you now, and completely irrelevant, but all you need to know about survival you'll know from your ABC's. If you don't believe me, see for yourself. What's the first letter of the alphabet?_

Shawn thinks perhaps he's taken this train of thought too far. Maybe he really is going crazy after all. He brings a hand up to rub at his face again.

 _A. The first letter of the alphabet, Shawn, is A. Do you remember what A stands for?_

"Apple. Aardvark. Attitude. Adorableness, like the thought of an aardvark eating an apple with an attitude. Amy Poehler. What am I even saying?"

 _Attention, Shawn. A stands for attention - which, when surviving through the apocalypse, is the most important thing you can remember to do. Pay attention. To everything, all the time. Be aware of your surroundings. Listen for sounds that could potentially signal a person, or a walker, or an animal is coming your way. Look where you're stepping. Always be aware of what's happening and what you're doing. You'll faster get yourself killed peeing on an electric fence than by being eaten by a zombie. That's just how stupid you are._

Shawn frowns, then laughs, then frowns again at the thought.

He doesn't deny it.

 _"_ Amazing. Even in my thoughts, you're a grumpy gill. Why are you all mean to me? Well, aside from Jules...and the Chief, I guess..."

 _If you think we're being hard on you, kiddo, it's only because you want us to be._

 _He's right, Shawn. This isn't us. This is all you,_ Gus tells him. _And just for the record, when I find you, I'm going to kill you._

 _"_ Come on, son," Shawn replies, opening his eyes to an empty room. "We both know you won't. You'll be too busy hugging me to remember to do that."

Gus clicks his tongue at him but says nothing more. Shawn doesn't need him to. With a feeling of equal resolve and sadness, Shawn reaches for his jacket and sets it down on the floor beside him, making sure to pocket the knife his father had given him. It takes him no more than thirty seconds to find a decent position on his back to lie on, the jacket beneath his head serving as a pillow. It isn't the most comfortable thing to be sleeping inside of an old shop like this, but he's safe from the elements tonight, and that's all he can really think of at this point. In the morning he can figure out another plan. Maybe after a good night's sleep he'll be coherent enough to figure out how to find his way back to his people, and won't have to hallucinate their voices anymore. But until then, Shawn will take what he can.

"Goodnight, me." He heaves in a deep breath, shuts his eyes, and tries to shut out the deafening silence. "Goodnight, Shawn."


End file.
